


Metal and Raven

by megasaurus (orphan_account)



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deaf, Deaf Character, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Injury Recovery, The Author Regrets Nothing, din loses his hearing, loss of hearing, post ep 4, takes place during episode 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:40:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23769409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/megasaurus
Summary: He can almost feel it, the loneliness, the dread, everlasting sorrow and the despair of a vacuum. He can almost feel the time before the Universe, before anything, before everything, when there was just nothing, and that was how it was supposed to be, forever; until it wasn't.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Winta (Star Wars), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Omera (Star Wars)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 50





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> hey look, another fic! am i currently busy with a different fic and also school? yes. has that ever stopped me before? no. is it a bad idea for me, a person who suffers from writers block, to make an entirely new fic when busy with a different one? yes! but ima do it anyway

He should've seen it coming.

He should've sensed it, should've felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, should've seen or heard or fucking _something._

But by the time he realised, by the time he felt it, the bomb had already gone off. The explosion had already sent him flying. The ringing in his ears unrelenting and unforgiving, his vision twisting and turning, fading, fading, _fading._ And he was scared. He was terrified. He could feel was the fear pumping from his heart to his veins, all through his body, an adrenaline that took hold of you, snatching you from yourself, making you regret and mourn and cry and _scream,_ like fireworks going wrong, until, eventually, it sizzles and it dies leaving nothing but the wake of its destruction before you.

And then, nothing.

No pain. No fear. No sight, no hearing. _Nothing._ You float, you just float, in nothing, in space. You want to reach out and grab ahold of something, anything _,_ but everything is gone, there is _nothing._

Nothing.

He can almost feel it, the loneliness, the dread, everlasting sorrow and the despair of a vacuum. He can almost feel the time before the Universe, before anything, before everything, when there was just nothing, and that was how it was supposed to be, forever; until it wasn't.

And suddenly, very suddenly, there was something. And with it came the dreadful pull of space and weight and gravity, the violent passage of time, the unrelenting light taking you and binding you in its offensive impertinent heat.

With it came hope. With it came life. Everything ugly and everything beautiful. Once, there was nothing, and suddenly, something.

The something was warm. It was kind. It was inviting. It was _painful._

He could feel _pain._

He could feel the bed underneath his skin. It was cold. _He_ was cold. And there was a light, it was blinding, threatened to burn through his eyelids. It hurt, they hurt, everything hurt.

Something was next to him. _Someone._ Their hand was warm. It rested against his arm. He didn't want to move, didn't want the person to move their hand away, couldn't let them take away what little warmth he had, so, instead, he forced his eyes to open.

It only took seconds for his eyes to adjust. First there was just light, a brilliant halo of it, then it faded, became softer, and he could see again.

A hospital.

White walls. White roof. White door. An overwhelming amount of white, even through the visor- except, _except,_ for the person at his side.

Dark. Brown hair, brown skin. Pretty. Prettier than the room. Prettier than anything he'd ever seen. _Omera._

Yes, yes, he remembered. He remembered her name. Omera. He remembered how beautiful she was, how she always was.

He wanted to hear her. Hear her voice, her laugh. Marvel at it. He needed to hear her.

"O-mer-a," he tried to say, but found no sound came out at all. Still, her eyes snapped open, smiled the biggest smile, and her mouth opened wide, mouthing something to him, that he could only barely make out;

"Mando," she mouthed, "Mando, you're awake!"

But why wasn't she speaking?

Were there other patients, were they sleeping? Did she need to be quiet?

He tried to ask, he tried to say something, and he _tried,_ but no sound, no sound came out, his voice was _gone..._ what happened to his voice? _Where was his voice?_

And her expression fell. And tears filled her eyes.

She mouthed something again, but she was going too fast, he couldn't make out what she was trying to say. _Why isn't she speaking?_

The door opened. A woman burst in. He recognised her, she was- she was _Cara._ Cara ran to the bed, falling to her knees at its side. She was speaking, she was saying _something,_ but there was no sound. There was no sound. No one was speaking, why wasn't anyone speaking?

Someone else came in. A nurse, a twi'lek nurse, and alongside her, a small child, that reminded him _so much_ of Omera - it was Winta, it was Winta. _She's here too._

She was crying, and the nurse had a sad expression, but _no one was speaking._

He tried to make a sound, a single noise, but no matter how hard he tried, he _couldn't,_ there was _nothing,_ an overwhelming sense of _nothing._

Wasn't there supposed to be something?

He brought up his hand, his bare hand, scarred and shaky, and he motioned for _writing._ For a pen. _I need to write._

The nurse nodded. She disappeared behind a wall. Re-emerged clutching a pen in her grasp. She handed it to him, he took it, and someone else gave him a piece of paper.

Using only his hand as a steady surface, he scratched five words, five shaky words into the piece of paper.

_WHY IS NO ONE TALKING_

Sadness. He felt it. In the room, in the air, amongst everyone, like a disease. Sadness. _Pity._ He hated pity.

Someone was asking for the paper. Omera, she wanted it. Her hand was held out. He gave it to her, as well as the pen, his cold hands brushed hers and he felt electricity flow through him like a shockwave. _Pleasant, warm._

He waited. He watched her write. He tried to figure out what was missing, why everything felt wrong, why everything was so, so- so _quiet._

And finally the paper was back in his grasp. Her response written in neat handwriting, sitting just below his blocky letters. He brought it up to his helmet, squinting through the visor, the words slowly coming into focus.

And his stomach dropped. Bile rose to the back of his throat. Vision titled, and spun, like a hurricane, like a tornado, his breath stuck in his throat, his heart threatening to burst through his chest.

_They couldn't save your hearing._


	2. II

He didn't know how long he'd been lying there. Time passed on the clock, but the numbers were only a blaring red blur, symbols he couldn't make out and didn't care about anyway.

At some point someone had put the kid in his lap. He held the child in his arms. Caressed its ear as it slept peacefully, watching the steady rise and fall of its chest.

The kid was warm. Din felt cold.

Not physically. He was given warmer clothes. Permitted to change out of the disgusting hospital gown. He shivered, but it wasn't because of the air. It was the dread, seeping into his bones. Overtaking his senses. Leaving _nothing._

He hadn't processed it, at first.

He remembered staring. Just staring, at the piece of paper in his hand. And then it suddenly falling from his grasp, landing on his chest. Hands shaking. Taking a deep shuddering breath.

He felt it. In his chest. His heart. It was pounding, it was thundering, but he couldn't hear it. Not at all. Not even a little. He couldn't hear Winta crying or Omera's words. Not the nurse as she relayed information to Cara.

All he saw was the haunted expressions on each person's face, the weight of everything weighing down on the entire room.

Now, he was sitting upright, the baby in his lap, and listening to absolutely _nothing._

The nurses refused to let him back into his armour.

He could hardly walk. Not with the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. He couldn't even bend over or get up from the hospital bed without assistance. They didn't let him go anywhere without a damn wheelchair, and, as embarrassing as it was, he was almost grateful for it.

Omera never left his side. She slept by his bed, ate her meals in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Accompanied him on mandatory walks around the hospital and was always ready to catch him if he stumbled. Even when he ate his meals all she did was turn her back to him and swear not to turn around. The only time she wasn't by his immediate side was when he needed the refresher, and even then it had taken a significant amount of convincing to stop her from walking in after him.

He couldn't understand it.

But he was grateful.

Din had never been so immobilised before. He'd always been able to treat his own wounds, he had the bacta and at least two medkits on the ship at all times. He'd cauterise himself and stitch himself up and that was just how it _was_ for twenty fucking years.

Now, whenever he stood he felt unstable and dizzy. He'd already pulled his stitches five times from pushing himself too hard, and he had to deal with nurses poking and prodding at his bare torso while Omera _watched._

He might've felt embarrassed if he were in any mood to be.

At least he was allowed to keep the helmet.

_Cara threatened to kill them herself if they took your helmet off._

Din felt himself breathe a sigh of relief. Grabbed the notebook from Omera's hand and scribbled a response.

_I AM GRATEFUL FOR HER_

Omera took the notebook back. He watched her hand move elegantly across the page before she handed it back to him. Wished he could hear the pen scratching against the paper.

_She's concerned that the reason you lost your hearing is because of that._

Din shook his head. Felt himself sigh again.

_EVEN IF THAT IS THE REASON I WOULD RATHER BE DEAF THAN FORGO THE CREED_

He saw Omera frown.

_How will you work?_

_I WILL LEARN TO FIGHT WITHOUT MY HEARING_

_That's too dangerous._

THIS IS THE WAY

It was the tenth time he'd written that in the notebook. He was counting. Almost beginning to hate writing it, the same four letters over and over. But each and every time, Omera would frown and shake her head, insisting,

_It's too dangerous. You'll get yourself killed._

And then he'd respond,

_DEATH IS PREFERRED OVER ABANDONING THE WAY_

And then tears would well up in her eyes, and her bottom lip would quiver, and a wave of guilt would rush over him. He hated seeing her upset, but most of all, he hated being the one to _make_ her upset. And he couldn't do anything about it. It's not like he could fucking talk. He'd tried, multiple times, but he knew, as soon as he saw the expression on Omera's face, that he was only making a fool of himself. And then she'd insist, _no, it's fine, it's fine, keep talking!_ but he couldn't bring himself to continue.

He tried to teach her sign-language, the limited amount that he knew, but without words to explain what each sign meant he only found himself growing steadily more frustrated until he eventually just gave up.

They were sitting in the cafeteria. The nurses insisted he get out and about, and he wasn't about to complain about it, but even shifting from the wheelchair to the shitty plastic cafeteria chair was so fucking _painful._ They'd taken him off pain meds, as per his request, and he didn't regret that decision, but it still _hurt._

Din watched as the kid happily guzzled down soup from its high-chair. 

_Do you want anything to eat?_

Din sighed.

_I CAN'T_

_Oh._

Still, when she disappeared for five minutes then reappeared with a drink and a straw, he didn't complain. Signed the word 'thank you', and she smiled.

He liked to see her smile.

It made him want to reach out, and cup her face with his hand. Feel her skin, her golden skin. And run his hands through her hair. It looked so soft. She was so beautiful.

So beautiful.

She was staring at expectantly him, now. He glanced down at her hands and realised she was shoving the notebook at him with another fresh line of words.

Din took it, face flushed red.

_What are you thinking about?_

He stared at it. Blinked.

He couldn't just- _tell_ her. _"Yeah, I was thinking about you._ " Like that would go well. 

_I SHOULD GO BACK TO MY ROOM_

_Already?_

Din glanced over at the kid. He'd already finished his soup, and was glancing around at the room for something interesting to look at.

_YES_

Omera got up from the chair reaching over to the kid and picking him up from the high-chair. With the kid in one arm, she reached out to Din. He grabbed her hand and let her pull him up from the chair. He winced as he slumped back into the wheelchair, attempting to fight the sudden wave of dizziness and onslaught of pain.

_That's probably not good._

He hated being pushed around in the stupid chair. It felt demeaning, he felt like people were staring, and judging. _A Mandalorian, in a wheelchair?_

Realistically, he knew no one cared. But it made him feel weak. Being pushed around by Omera. He couldn't get enough of the mandatory walks, even if they hurt like hell. It was the only time he was allowed to go about normally. Cara would take the kid, and Din would walk side-by-side with Omera.

It was always night by the time they got back from those walks. They'd go after dinner. He'd take five minutes just to get out the door, then he'd limp down the corridor with Omera clutching his arm the entire way, while also dragging the chair alongside them.

They'd go all the way to the gardens, sit outside in the freezing weather and stare up at the stars. He'd learn the planet's constellations and its solar systems.

_We're on Corellia._

Din had heard of that planet before, but had never actually been. Most of his bounties ended up in some skug-hole where they thought no-one would find them. Corellia was _popular,_ which meant it was a shit place to hide.

He tried not to think about it too much.

_WHY CORELLIA?_

_We couldn't treat you on Sorgan._

Din bit his lip. Wrung his hands in his lap, staring down at the notebook. Then picked up the pen.

_HOW DID YOU GET HERE?_

Omera gave him a funny look.

_Cara flew your ship._

_WAS IT NOT DAMAGED?_

_It was but it could still fly. We were very lucky._

She paused for a moment. Then wrote another line.

_You were standing too close to the explosion._

Standing too close?

_Of course._

He felt some unknown emotion rise in his chest, and he pushed it down. _No. Later._

_HOW DID YOU FIND ME?_

_Cara trailed you to make sure you wouldn't get hurt. I trailed Cara. Winta trailed me._

Din nodded, staring back up at the sky and leaning back into the uncomfortable wooden bench. It dug into his back, it was harsh against his spine, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Din felt movement beside him. He glanced back down at Omera, and saw her bending down to pick a small flower from beneath the bench. An ugly yellow one, with a stem too weak to support its petals and keep it upright.

He tapped her on the shoulder. Gestured to the flower. Then held out his hand. She placed the flower in his palm, and he frowned, shaking his head and laying the flower in her lap.

"H-and," he said. 

"Hand?" Omera repeated. Din nodded. Reached out for her hand resting in her lap.

She gave it to him, and he grabbed it, bring it up to the right side of her nose and moving it across to the left.

"Flow-er," he said. Din grabbed the flower from her lap and held it up. "Flower."

He watched Omera slowly replicate the sign, repeating it a few times and staring at him for confirmation. He saw Omera's lips move as she echoed the word 'flower' over and over.

He wished he could hear it.

God, he wished he could fucking hear it.

Her voice. Her beautiful voice.

He could remember it; so clear in his head. The way she spoke when she said, _"We want you to stay."_ It was so clear, so pretty. Beautiful. Melodic.

And he'd taken it for granted.

He'd taken it all for granted.

No. _No._ Later. _Think about it later._

Din picked up the notebook and the pen.

_WE SHOULD GO BACK. CARA WILL GET WORRIED_

The kid, too, probably. Ever since the explosion, he'd been... reluctant to let Din out of his sight. Convincing the kid to stay with Cara was more trouble than it was worth on most nights, but it wasn't like they could just carry him everywhere, especially in the dark.

It worried Din, too. Leaving him like that. But then he'd remind himself that Cara vowed to protect the kid, no matter the cost. She was capable, she could handle it, but...

_What if?_

Those two words played in his mind, over and over. _What if. What if. What if._

What if the kid had been with him?

What if the bomb was bigger?

_What if we're still being trailed?_

_What if the hunters aren't above attacking a hospital?_

Din shook his head. Sighed. _Later. Think about this later._

He couldn't afford to dwell on it. He needed to _focus._ He needed to be there for the kid, and Omera, and Winta. He needed to be strong. He could. He would.

They arrived back at his hospital room. Cara was sitting on the floor, the kid waddling over to her, clutching some sort of toy in his hand. At the sight of Din in the doorway, he immediately dropped it and held out his hands, running over to where Din sat in his wheelchair, his tongue sticking out through his teeth.

The kid moved to scramble up onto his legs, but Omera reached down and picked him up before he could get very far.

Feeling Cara's gaze, Din pushed the chair forward with a grunt over to the side of his bed. Using the wall, he pulled himself up off the chair and then landed himself heavily on the bed. Omera was immediately at his side, frowning, with the kid in her arms. She shook her head, as if to say, _don't do that, you'll pull your stitches, let me help you._

Nevertheless, she placed the kid in his lap. The kid scrambled up, clawing at Din's shirt and pulling it downwards, before eventually settling to rest against Din's abdomen.

It was uncomfortable, it hurt to have the kid press against his bandages, but he couldn't bring himself to shoo the kid off. 

Din rested his head against the wall. He wished, not for the first nor the last time, that he could take off his helmet. It was padded, so it wasn't like it was necessarily uncomfortable, but sometimes he felt like it provided so much pressure against his head that it fucking hurt.

Omera was saying something, and Cara was rising from the floor. After a brief exchange, Omera turned to the door, waving hastily at Din before leaving the room altogether, leaving him alone with just Cara.

Din couldn't help but feel embarrassed every time he saw her.

He knew he had no reason to be. He knew she wasn't judging him, for appearing so weak and feeble. But even so when she looked over at him with that frown she had he couldn't help but feel so ashamed.

She offered a hand for the notebook and pen. He handed them to her.

_nice walk?_

Din sighed.

_IT WAS FINE_

He saw Cara smile.

_getting your "alone time"?_

Din felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He frowned even though Cara couldn't see it, glaring up at her in hopes she'd get the message anyway.

_WE ARE NOT INVOLVED_

_sure mando_

He scowled.

They _weren't_ involved.

He... okay, fine, fucking- _sure._ He liked her. But it wasn't like he was- it wasn't like he was about to tell anyone, especially not her, god, _especially_ not her.

They were friends. She cared about him. He cared about her.

That was all.

That was _all._

Sure, whenever she walked into the room it hurt, and sure, whenever she was close his heart raced, and _sure,_ he'd dream about spending the rest of their lives together- but, that was all it would be. That was all it _could_ be.

_so what do you wanna do once youre out?_

_No fucking clue,_ Din thought to himself. _I have no fucking clue._

He needed to leave. He needed to protect the kid. He couldn't stay, the hunters were on their trail, if he stayed, for even a moment longer- for just a _moment-_

The next bomb wasn't just going to steal someone's hearing.

They weren't going to make the same mistake twice.

_I DON'T KNOW_

Din saw no point in lying. That was dangerous. Lying to the people who cared would get him and the kid killed.

_youre really just gonna leave though? after all of this?_

_WHAT CHOICE DO I HAVE_

He couldn't hear it, but he knew that Cara had sighed. 

_you dont have to do all the work. I can protect the village and the kid_

_ONE PERSON WON'T STOP THEM ALL_

_watch me_

Always up for a challenge. Willing to put her life on the line if it meant she could prove her worth. Din would admire her for it if it wasn't so reckless.

_TOO DANGEROUS_

_you know what else is dangerous?_  
_leaving by yourself when youve lost all your hearing  
_ _thats fucking dangerous_

Din frowned. 

_you and the kid are safer on sorgan._

_THE KID IS BEING HUNTED. THE IMPS WILL STOP AT NOTHING. THEY WILL KILL EVERYONE._

_then well be damn sure they wont go down without a fight. Im not letting you go_

_YOU CAN'T STOP ME_

_no but Id bet omera can_

He glared up at her through the visor. She glared right back. Their gazes were only broken when Omera came in through the door with Winta and one of the nurses in tow.

Winta practically bounced in. She skipped to the left side of Din's bed, scrambling up onto it and sitting on her knees. She went to say something, but then her eyes widened and instead she pointed at the kid.

"Slee-ping?" she said slowly, exaggerating her lip-movements. Din nodded, bringing up one hand and signing the symbol for 'sleep'. After a brief moment, Winta brought up her own hand and copied it.

"Sleep," he saw her say. "Sleep."

Her eyebrows furrowed, like she was contemplating something. Then, she brought up her right hand and pointed directly at him.

"You sleep," she signed.

And, really, that didn't sound like such a bad idea.

So, instead of responding, he rested his head once more on the wall, closing his eyes and slowly feeling the tug of exhaustion pull him under.

He could relax.

Just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using ASL for the sign-language bc ofc we know basically nothing about the one that Din uses in the show, so ASL was the next best thing
> 
> sign for [flower](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=827)  
> sign for [thank you](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=2186)  
> sign for [sleep](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=1985)


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately it seems there aren't many resources available for Plains Indian Sign, so I'll have to stick with ASL

It was another week until he was discharged from the hospital.

Each passing day made him steadily antsier than the last. To say being discharged made him _relieved_ was an understatement. It meant he could leave, and- well, it meant he wouldn't be endangering the hospital anymore, and, that... that was what mattered.

Still, he couldn't help but feel a sense of overwhelming dread as he hobbled onto the Crest, Omera clutching his arm so that he wouldn't fall.

She told him- or, rather, she wrote rather angrily that they were _going_ back to Sorgan and that was final. No buts, no excuses. _You will recover,_ she had written, _on Sorgan._

Din knew that arguing with her would be futile, in the end. But as they boarded the Crest the sense of dread in the pit of his stomach just crept higher and higher up his chest.

What if Sorgan got attacked? What if he was still too weak to help? _What if?_

The entrance to the Crest closed behind them. He went to climb up to the cockpit, but Cara's hand was suddenly against his breastplate, pushing him backwards. She shook her head, saying, _no, I'll fly._

Reluctantly, very reluctantly, he stepped back, allowing her to pass up into the cockpit instead.

Something tugged at Din's leg. He glanced down to see the child staring up at him, wide-eyed. Slowly Din bent down and picked up the kid, holding him in his arms.

He sighed.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

By the time they left hyperspace, Din was almost falling asleep. It wasn't a long trip, but it had felt like hours, with nothing to distract him. Omera wasn't letting him _do_ anything. Any time he tried to get up, she would appear before him like she materialised and push him back down.

But, as tired as he felt, he couldn't get to sleep. Usually... usually he'd sleep in the cockpit, at his chair, listening to the gentle hum and rumble of the ship as it sped through space...

...

But without that he found it to be more difficult.

Still. They'd arrived. He felt the ship land, and after some time, Cara descended down the ladder.

She said something to Omera. Omera responded after a brief pause, shook her head, then turned to Din.

He didn't complain when she pulled him up from his seat, as much as he wanted to.

Cara pressed some buttons, and the ramp opened up. She'd parked them just outside the village, he could see - not too long a trek, but also hidden enough by their surroundings that it would be difficult for just a few hunters to find it.

It would be safe. It was tactical.

It was _fine._

So why was there so much... so much...

_Emotion?_

Winta appeared suddenly at Din's right. He watched her bound down the ramp, landing on the ground and only narrowly avoiding falling face-first onto the dirt. She turned back, yelled something over at them, then began to run head-on through the forest, disappearing behind a tree. After a moment, she poked her head out from behind it bearing a large grin.

Din moved to walk down the ramp by himself, but Omera immediately grabbed onto his arm, and led him slowly down to the ground. He didn't protest... as much as he wanted to.

The trek back to the village was longer than it needed to be. The kid kept wanting to stop and look at something he found, or eat a frog, or play a game of hide-and-seek with Winta. When Omera ran after the kid, he'd laugh and hide behind anyone he could find. When Cara picked him up after almost two hours of the same thing over and _over,_ he began to cry and scramble to get out of her grasp.

On top of that, Din's pain was getting worse the longer they walked. At first he tried to hide it, thinking he didn't want to bother anyone or slow them down, but after some time it began to hurt so much that he was nearly gasping for breath at any given moment.

So he muted the speakers in his helmet.

It wasn't important.

He wasn't going to slow them down.

He could rest in the cottage.

_you're taking this way too well_

Din stared at Cara's handwriting. He frowned beneath the helmet.

They'd stopped to take a short break before the rest of their journey. It wasn't long now, only ten minutes, but the kid was getting restless, and Winta wanted to play.

_WHAT DO YOU MEAN?_

_I was expecting you to be really pissed about all of this but you seem fine. losing your hearing would be debilitating for someone like you, why aren't you upset_

_I'LL LEARN TO DEAL WITH IT_

He saw Cara's chest heave, indicating a sigh.

_well at least let me help. I'll be your sparring partner_

_THAT WOULD BE GOOD_

Din paused, then wrote another line.

_THANK YOU_

Cara grabbed the notebook and the pen, and began to write something new, when suddenly she jumped, her gaze snapping upward and her hand flying for her blaster. She pointed it behind him, yelling.

Din turned around just in time to see Winta sprinting out of the woods, red light blaring past her, her face contorted into a scream. He watched, wide eyes, as Cara snatched his amban rifle, aimed it, and fired a shot into the woods. The surrounding trees lit up, and a klatooinian fell forward onto the clearing just as they disintegrated into a pile of ash.

Cara yelled something over at Omera, who was clutching Winta against her. She yelled something back then bent down to gather her belongings.

Din turned to Cara, forcing the tremor in his hand to stop by pressing his palm against his leg. He tried to speak to her, something along the lines of, _"what are we doing",_ but Cara only gave him a sad look. She shook her head, then bent down to grab the notebook.

_I can't understand your speech. I'm sorry_

He stared at it. Forced down another wave of emotion.

_WHAT ARE WE DOING?_

_we need to keep moving_

Din glanced back over at the thick forest of trees, where bits of the klatooinian were laying amongst the grass. He stared into the woods, feeling another spike of emotion. He took a deep shuddering breath, then shook his head.

"O-kay," he muttered, taking his rifle back from Cara. "Les' go."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The rest of their walk was hell.

Din felt like his abdomen was on fire. The bandages felt too-tight. Each step tugged on the stitches, and each tug had him gasping for air. He knew he was walking strangely, he knew he was limping, and that he was beginning to lag behind. The others noticed. Cara offered to help, but, straightening his posture and inhaling sharply, he declined.

 _I'll live with it,_ he thought.

At some point, he reached for his rifle and began to use it as a walking-stick. Omera shot him a worried glance, but otherwise didn't say anything.

It was long, and it was painful, but finally, _finally,_ they arrived at the goddamn village. People stared as they wandered in, the kid hobbling along with them.

A man ran up to them - Din had never caught his name - and stepped beside Omera, walking alongside her and talking frantically as they all entered the village. The man gestured toward Din, shooting him the occasional biting glare. Omera seemed to ignore him, only occasionally bothering to respond back with her own annoyed glances.

Eventually, the man tapered off, and Omera came over to Din, offering a warm smile. She grabbed his arm, and pointed at the cottage that he'd stayed in when he was last on Sorgan.

She tugged at his arm. He let her drag him to the cottage, trying his best not to lean on her, but found it nearly impossible as the pain in his abdomen became greater. The stairs were another task entirely; the moment he lifted his leg, an entire jolt of pain shot through his body like electricity, and he had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from crying out. His grip on Omera tightened, and his vision blurred as he collapsed onto the stairs.

He knew as soon as he felt blood begin to run down his torso that he'd pulled the stitches.

Again.

He felt another pair of hands begin to hoist him up. He allowed Cara to drag him indoors, and place him carefully on the bed. His vision spun as he laid down, helmet hitting the unnaturally hard pillow behind him.

He held out a shaky hand, chest heaving. "Pen," he said.

Before long the notebook was in his hands.

_STITCHES_

Omera gave him an alarmed look. Cara was immediately at his side, practically tearing his armour off him and finally pulling up his shirt to expose the bandages wrapped around his abdomen. He didn't need to see them to know they were stained red. Working quickly, Cara said something to Omera, pulling a small knife from her side and beginning to work at the bandages, cutting away each layer with precision. She said something to him that looked suspiciously like "moron".

After a painstaking two minutes, all the bandages had been cut open, exposing his bleeding abdomen. He stared, vision becoming hazy, as Omera handed Cara a bottle of antiseptic as well as a cloth that had been given to them by the hospital.

"Hurt," Cara signed. Din understood what she meant. _This will hurt._

Cleaning the blood wasn't bad. Cara was careful, she applied only as much force as she needed to. It stung when she got close to the wound, and a few times she had to press down on his torso to stop him from jolting, but otherwise it was _fine._ It was the re-stitching he was worried about.

He'd given himself stitches before. Most times, he never had anaesthetic. But he'd never had shrapnel in his torso before, and especially not in his abdomen, so close to some damn vital organs. He knew there was a _reason_ the nurses gave him pain medication for each time they needed to fix them.

Cara finished cleaning. She dropped the cloth into a bucket by the side of the bed, that hadn't been there moments prior. She disappeared from his view for a moment, then reappeared holding a thin needle. She was surprisingly calm as she cleaned it. Din was surprisingly _not_ calm.

At all.

Usually, he would've been. Usually- usually he could force it away. Any panic, and fear. He knew he needed it, he knew he'd either bleed-out or die of infection if they _didn't_ fix the stitches, and _usually_ that would be enough to calm him down.

It was not.

He felt his entire body shaking. His own heartbeat pounding in his chest, so hard that he thought, for a moment, that he might be able to hear it.

He tore his eyes away from Cara's hands, instead opting to stare at the ceiling. He wanted to mute the modulation in his helmet, he didn't want them to hear how afraid he was, but he couldn't find any strength in his arm to reach for the switch.

He turned his head. Omera was standing just behind Cara, not too close, but much too far away for comfort.

"Om-er-a," he croaked. He didn't need to hear his voice to know how shaky it was. She was immediately by his side, kneeling on the hardwood flooring. She gave him a warm, comforting smile, and he felt her hand intertwine with his. He wished he could take his glove off, and feel her warm and smooth skin against his calloused and scarred hands.

"You're okay," she said slowly, giving him enough time to read her lips. "You will be okay."

And, for a moment, he allowed himself to believe her. He stared into her eyes, her beautiful eyes, and he thought, if he could never hear her voice ever again, at least he could still see her eyes. At least he still had that. She was so beautiful, in every way. Her eyes, her skin, her hair so neatly done. He wanted to run his fingers through it, and-

The needle pierced his skin.

Din let out a pained yell. He gritted his teeth, willing himself to stop hyperventilating- Cara's hand pressed against him in an attempt to lessen his movement. His grip on Omera's hand tightened as the needle was pulled in and out.

His vision spun as he stared at the ceiling. His hold on Omera's hand was so tight that he worried he might break it- but she didn't complain, she only squeezed his hand back, comforting him.

And- and it wasn't even that _bad._ The needle. So- _so- why?_

Why was he so freaked out? Why? Why? _Why?_ Why was his heart racing? Why did his vision spin? Why was his mind screaming at him, screaming, ' _you're going to die'_ ?

Why?

Why?

_Why?_

Cara leaned over him suddenly. "Mando?" she said slowly. He stared up at her, doing his best to steady his breathing.

Cara held up the notebook so that her writing was looking down at him.

_you're done. you're okay_

Slowly, Din looked down at the wound, and saw that it had been resealed. Like it was never even pulled in the first place.

Cara left, and Omera peered over him, still giving him that warm beautiful smile.

He knew, then, that he'd bear all the pain in the world, if it meant he could see her smile, every day, for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ay
> 
> sign for [hurt](https://www.handspeak.com/word/search/index.php?id=1077)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do leave a comment, they give me the motivation I need to continue writing these stories. Thank you sm for reading and ily <3


End file.
